Dancing Shoes
by Elanor
Summary: Hermione's boss is always finding fault in her work and she's sick and tired of it, but an abrupt change of tone makes her wonder if she's misjudged his manner all along. HermioneBlaise, chaptered, for Megan. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Dancing Shoes**

_**Chapter One**_

"I am not at all satisfied with this, Granger," a gentle drawl and the soft flump of papers on a desk cut into Hermione Granger's work like a conveniently pointy dagger.

She looked up from her work desk, in tray on the left, outbox on the right, paperclips by the outbox, spare paper by the inbox, pens in the middle. She frowned as her boss disturbed her work. She'd been getting on with her report so well; no one liked a stray manticore, especially not the people of Sussex.

"And why not?" Hermione could not keep the offence form her voice. She didn't think she'd ever heard those words spoken more in her life than she did from her current boss. He sighed and pushed his glasses up from his nose to his head. It was the kind of sigh which Hermione associated with an immanent criticism.

"Granger," he pushed her inbox back without a second glance and perched himself on the edge of her desk.

"Do you mind?" Hermione shifted back in her chair pulling her documents towards her; she felt thoroughly off balance.

"No," Hermione huffed. Blaise Zabini, Italian pure-blood, didn't say a lot, and had total disregard for other people's feelings. That was her boss. And she hated it. But what she hated most about Zabini (never Blaise) was not the criticisms of her work, or the way he often invaded her space like this, no, what she hated most was his looks. She hated the way he would be criticising and that stray black curl, the one which always fell over his glasses, always, and she was sure deliberately, fell over his glasses when he was with her. She could not figure out why it irritated her so much, but it really did. Or if not that, the way his eyes would flick over to her whenever they had a meeting; he was testing her, she was sure, for he scrutinised her top to tail, making Hermione feel once again thoroughly hunted.

And he was doing it again.

"I can't accept this… epic, Granger," he stated flatly, flicking through the 43 page work in front of her eyes.

"And why not? I spent a lot of time on that!" Hermione once again was at a loss, and drew her current papers closer to her, frowning heavily at the man sitting on her desk.

"It's too bloody long," he said flatly, "'Dragon Activity in Romania, danger to the Ministry?' I specified concise, it was then to be put in a pamphlet form for the Wizengamot, you think the editors, or the Wizengamot for one want to file through all this crap?"

Hermione blinked. Crap. No. She would not be insulted like that, not now not ever. She bit her lip and slowly released her papers, taking a deep breath, willing herself not to cry. Usually she just wanted to slap Zabini silly, but now, now she wanted to cry. She felt so insulted.

"I'm sorry," she said, voice cracking. Hermione stood up and wavered for a second, staring at her boss. Zabini suddenly frowned and pushed his glasses back onto his nose.

"I didn't mean-"

"I heard your opinion loud and clear," Hermione turned and walked quickly out of her office not turning back. She was sick of him humiliating her, with always trying to find a fault in what she worked so hard on.

"GRANGER," a voice called from the opposite end of the hallway. Hermione didn't turn but kept up a fast walk, heading right a few paces later into the ladies toilet. She would not let him see that he had finally made her cry.

Thankfully there was no one else in the toilets, with basins lining the left hand wall and a row of cubicles on the right. Hermione headed into the first cubicle and grabbed a ream of tissue, dabbing frantically, before heading to lean on a basin and peer into a mirror.

She looked a sight. Her eyes streaming silently, blotchy and red, and while her hair was no worse than usual the sight made her feel even more depressed. She was not screaming in pain, but silent tears rolled. She felt so insulted.

Quite suddenly the door banged open with a clatter and Blaise Zabini strode into the ladies toilets. Hermione jumped and turned, watching him stride in.

"Git."

He said nothing, but stared at her blankly.

"I know."

Hermione blinked in shock, partially at her comment, partially at Blaise's agreement. He sighed and leaned against the basin next to her, running a hand through his black hair.

"I'm an idiot."

"Yes," Hermione agreed. If he was in that frame of mind then she was perfectly happy to go along with his line of thinking.

"But, Granger, seriously, it was long," he gave her a pleading look, which clearly said 'well at least let me somehow redeem myself.'

"It was, that was its…charm," Hermione giggled instantly after she said it.

"I suppose so."

Neither said anything for several minutes, Hermione dabbed at her eyes, before washing her hands, Blaise watching her every movement.

"I am sorry. Let me take you out, you don't deserve to be insulted," Hermione frowned slightly.

"If you're sure…"

"Yes. Do you dance?"

"I thought you meant dinner?" Hermione blushed, the thought of dancing with Blaise…

"I can cook," he waved a hand dismissively.

"Well, I'm not brilliant, but it's enjoyable, I suppose," Hermione looked down at her feet, she certainly wasn't used to men treating her like this.

"I know a place. It's the least I can do. Meet me in the Leaky Cauldron at seven," his tone left no room for argument. Hermione couldn't quite believe it was happening. Hermione didn't think she'd ever heard him say so many words at any one time.

"Erm, alright, when?"

"Tonight. You'll need a dress," his eyes swept her figure as they so often did these days. Suddenly Hermione felt that this time his gaze wasn't quite as calculating as it had once been.

"Well. Alright, thank you," Hermione was rather taken back by the whole thing and didn't know what to say.

"S'nothing. And, I'll cut down your report, it's no trouble," he almost smiled at her.

Hermione once again had the urge to slap him "Then why on earth did you get so wound up about its length to start off with?"

Blaise didn't say anything for a moment, but tilted his head to one side, his gaze on her steady.

"How else would I have invited you to go dancing?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Dancing Shoes**

_**Chapter 2**_

Hermione rushed home feeling rather harried; it had been a both stressful and bizarre day. If she was honest she was slightly looking forward to Zabini taking her out tonight, but only because it would be fun. Only that.

"The Burrow," Hermione threw a handful of floo powder into her fireplace and stuck her head into the green sparkling flames. She only had an hour. A few seconds of silence and Hermione heard the thumping of feet on floor boards, a second later the face of Ginny Weasley was staring back at her.

"I have nothing to wear," Hermione said hurriedly. Ginny said nothing but gaped at Hermione.

"Right. What do you need?" Ginny asked unsurely, not knowing where this was going. She couldn't honestly say that Hermione had ever said those words before, at least not in her memory.

"A dress," said Hermione hurriedly.

"You have a dress, surely," Ginny frowned, she was becoming more and more confused.

"Of course I do!" Hermione cried, "but not the right sort."

Ginny frowned even more. This was most unlike Hermione. Well maybe it was her perfectionist side coming out.

"Transfigure something then," Ginny replied, bemused. Hermione tutted in the flames, inhaling some ash. A few chokes later Hermione managed to reply.

"That's where I need your help," she seemed slightly embarrassed now, and blinked owlishly at Ginny.

"Right, I'm coming through," Ginny sighed; it wouldn't be the magic Hermione would have a problem with, but rather her fashion sense.

Hermione dashed up to her room and began rifling through her wardrobe. She had two dresses, a long black evening dress and a plain white cotton summer dress. Clearly neither was appropriate, but perhaps Ginny would be able to transfigure one.

A clatter of feet and a few seconds later a sooty Ginny Weasley stepped into Hermione bedroom.

"Right. What's going on? Where are you going? With whom?" Ginny placed her hands on her hips, glaring at Hermione.

"Dancing and I'll tell you later. Just help I only have an hour, I dress to show up."

"You mean to impress?" Ginny arched a brow, she supposed that was Hermione terminology for "a little bit sexy."

"Yes, that," Hermione replied somewhat awkwardly. Ginny didn't pay attention, but rather was extracting her wand from her pocket and flexing her arm, as if warming up for a fight. Hermione frowned.

"I have just the," Ginny said a few words and aimed her wand at the black dress, "idea!" The black dress had several inches abruptly ripped off its bottom, the excess fabric went flying across to land on a lamp. Hermione whimpered.

"Ginny!"

"Trust me Hermione, I'm a fashion victim," somehow that didn't reassure Hermione.

Ten minutes, several tears of fabric and a good neatening charm later Hermione's dress was considerably less ankle length and the straps had now thickened to tie round the neck. Hermione was not impressed.

"I'll look like a… a," Hermione struggled to find the word.

"Scarlet woman? Oh I agree. I know lot's of scarlet women who wear knee length dresses that cover their cleavage. Totally agree," Ginny flumped onto the bed by the dresses with a sarcastic smile. "Try the bloody thing on at least, I'll find some lipstick."

Hermione started doubtfully at the dress. But sighed, picking it up and walking into her ensuite. Stripping her clothes off Hermione stared at the dress for a second before slipping it over her head. To give Ginny her due it fit well, and she was right, it was almost on the knee. Almost.

"Ginny," Hermione poked her head out of the door.

"Yes."

"Problem," Hermione said blushing.

"What?" Ginny frowned and stood up.

"I can't wear a bra with this," Hermione said irritably.

Ginny stepped over to the door to whisper in Hermione's ear. "That's the idea."

Hermione frowned deeply. She could not do that when going out with her boss!

"Oh come on," Ginny complained, "you can't look like a nun forever, Hermione. Better the back than the front."

She slammed the door in Ginny's face and pulled off her bra angrily. Nun. She would show her. A second later Hermione ripped open the door forcefully, highly irritated.

"Excellent," Ginny cried, oblivious to Hermione's snarl. "Time for make up," she sang happily.

Hermione only just restrained the urge to slap her.

"Going to tell me your hot date is yet?" Ginny grinned, attacking her with a red lipstick.

"No."

"Bitch," in retaliation Ginny lined Hermione's lips bright red.

Hermione apparated into The Leaky cauldron with a soft pop, undoing her cardigan as she went, she was fairly aware there was a middle aged wizard at the bar staring at her, but ignored him, going over to Tom.

"Evening, Miss Granger," Tom gave her a toothy grin, "you look lovely tonight."

Hermione grinned affably, Tom was sweet, "Thanks Tom."

"Can I get you a drink this evening?"

"A small cherry tonic, I won't be long," Hermione smiled, not wanting to refuse the kind barman. Tom nodded and went to get her drink.

The wizard a seat down at the bar stood up suddenly and Hermione was aware of him taking a step in her direction before he was suddenly halted. Turning, her eyebrows shot up, to find Zabini, with a hand on the man's arm, looking fairly furious.

"Don't," she heard him mutter, before he released the wizard and stepped over to her, his face carefully blank.

"What was that man doing?" she asked, Zabini did seem angry.

"Probably about to come and feel you up," Zabini said shortly. "You look… nice," he finished awkwardly.

Hermione didn't know weather to caution him for jumping to conclusions or blush at his compliment; he rarely gave them. She went for the latter.

"Thank you, so do you," she smiled, he was, as usual dressed smartly, there was no denying he was a handsome man. Wordlessly he took her arm and steered Hermione to the door.

"Can you save my drink for later Tom?" Hermione called over her shoulder. She saw him give her a wave as Zabini lead her out of the pub.

"So where are we going?" Hermione unhooked her arm from Zabini's to re-do up the buttons on her cardigan. She didn't see his eyes watching every button.

"A place," he replied vaguely, and re-hooked their arms once she was done.

He led her on through the evening.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dancing Shoes**

_**Chapter Three**_

Hermione shivered slightly as she was lead down the dark road of Diagon Alley. There were people passing them, young wizards and witches holding hands, looking quite happy, smiling gently, underage teenagers stumbling around in an all too random way to be entirely sober and middle age witches giggling slightly, gossiping on their way. Hermione smiled gently as she walked through the cool air, her arm linked through Blaise's. He seemed to genuinely want to make up for his comments, but a small part of Hermione wasn't all that angry. A very small part forgave him, she knew it was in his nature to be somewhat blunt and unforgiving, but she certainly did appreciate his effort to make it up to her, even if she was slightly nervous.

"Here we are," Blaise murmured from her side, bringing Hermione out of her stupor. She looked up to see a dusty, somewhat grubby building with a large wrought iron hanging sign almost so dusty and cobwebbed that it could not be seen what was written on it. He lead her in swiftly, Hermione peering over her shoulder, trying to read the sign in vain.

The inside of the building was something quite different to the exterior. Unlike the shabby uncared for look the outside had held, the inside of the building was clean and brimming with light and laughter. There was a long polished wooden bar on the left hand side and no small amount of comfy looking couches behind it. The entire rest of the building was a blank polished black floor, on which people were dancing somewhat enthusiastically to what sounded to Hermione like muggle swing music.

"What is this place?" Hermione asked as Blaise steered her over to a seat at the long wooden bar. It was half full and every so often with a crack or pop people appeared on the bar stools and with a laugh or wave ran into the dance floor.

"A dancing club, private," Blaise murmured. "Would you like a drink?" Hermione was still processing " private dance club," and didn't say anything for a few seconds.

"Erm, a cherry tonic please," Blaise murmured to the barman and turned round, taking a seat next to her, watching Hermione watch the dancing couples. He grinned slightly, almost, she seem quite entranced, a slight flush to her cheeks. Gently, he began to undo her cardigan buttons.

"What are you doing?" Hermione's sharp voice cut through Blaise's actions.

"Taking your cardigan off, you're flushed, Granger," he undid the last one, letting Hermione slip it off with a frown. Passing her the drink which had arrived she was once again aware of his eyes sweeping over her in the calculating way she was now used too.

"It's a… lovely dress," he said softly.

Hermione sipped her drink and grinned affably, "Ginny transfigured an old evening dress of mine. I believe the excess fabric is still all over my bedroom." For some reason Blaise shifted on his stool.

"Would you like to dance?" Hermione shot him a sharp look and her eyes flicked to the couples dancing exuberantly. HE sensed her fear almost immediately.

"This is not set steps Hermione, even if you're awful you don't get laughed at," he smirked in a way which plainly said 'apart form by me.' "It's just about having a good time."

Hermione stared at the dance floor for a second, before setting her glass down.

"Alright then," Blaise was not surprised and took her arm, steering her over. Hermione Granger never refused a challenge.

Hermione took a deep breath and took Blaise's hands somewhat hesitantly, she was somewhat surprised when he gently twirled her around to the fast music, and even more so when he pulled her up against him in the motion of a slow dance.

"Er, Zabini…"

"If you're nervous about a faster dance this is the easier place to start," he purred into her ear. Hermione flushed, why so damn close?

He steered her around, and Hermione was totally unaware of the sighs letting loose form her lips or the tension disappearing from her shoulders, all she felt was Blaise's hands gently on her hips, guiding her through a sea of fast moving opponents which she could not catch up with. For once in her life she was grateful of relaxation.

"Better?" he murmured a few minutes later in her ear. Somehow he knew he'd got her to loosen up, maybe it was her renewed posture which gave it away, Hermione thought vaguely.

"Yes," she whispered back and without thinking lay her head down on his shoulder. She felt reading to drift around in that motion for hours and had no idea, or care, of for how long they'd been going. Right then, at the moment, she honestly didn't care. A few minutes later he released and pulled her through the crowd back to the bar.

"Keep drinking something it's hot here," he said quietly, plonking onto a barstool. Hermione turned her head to one side and stared at him for a fraction of a second.

"Two waters please," Blaise called across to the barman, who nodded. Hermione sat and accepted her water a minute later.

"Do you come here often?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Only when I have someone to bring. So no, but I would like to come more often," he shot her a look from the corner of her eye which Hermione totally missed.

"It's a lovely place," she agreed. It seemed that people really were only there to dance and have fun, no one was getting drunk everywhere and it wasn't too crowded.

They finished their waters in silence and this time it was Hermione who pulled Blaise to the dance floor, grinning. He laughed gently and pulled her into a twirl, spinning her back out with seeming ease. They began to dance again, faster paced and free, Hermione was grateful for the change of tempo, she could honestly say that she had unwound before and now was up for some fun. Blaise was no amazing dancer, and she was sure she wasn't either, but she didn't think she'd ever seen him smile of laugh so much or herself blush. It really i was /i fun.

A few minutes later a slow song came on and Hermione pulled closer to Blaise for a more intimate dance.

"I think I better go," she muttered halfway through the song. She was sure, so sure that for a second she felt his shoulders sag.

"Why?"

"I'm awfully sleepy," she pulled away gently, knowing she wouldn't be able too if she left it any longer.

He smiled slightly and pulled her back in to talk, "Thank you for a lovely evening, Hermione."

She smiled, "Thank you."

He frowned, "Let me walk you back to The Leaky Cauldron, it's late."

She nodded and he lead her from the dance floor, past the bar and out into the chilly air. Hermione hurriedly buttoned her cardigan.

They walked in silence, shoulders touching, smiling. Hermione didn't know what it was but she honestly felt rather giddy. When they reached the door of The Leaky cauldron Hermione smiled and kissed Blaise's cheek.

"You aren't the total idiot I thought you were," she grinned cheerfully as Blaise's mouth twitched.

"And you aren't the totally stuck up witch I thought you were," he tilted his head at her.

Hermione didn't move.

Blaise leaned closer.

"We should do this again," he whispered in her ear and pulled away sweeping another calculating glance down her body.

Something hit Hermione with the force of a particularly large stampede of hippogriffs. All the glances in the meetings, the constant faults he found in her work, the side along glances… hadn't been testing her. No. Far from it. He'd been trying to get close to her. And had misjudged it, totally misjudged him. She felt highly bemused.

"We need to talk," she grabbed his arm and twirled on the spot and a second later they were gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Dancing Shoes**

_**Chapter Four**_

Hermione pulled Blaise into the nearest chair as soon as they appeared in her kitchen.

"Speak," she demanded, furiously unbuttoning her cardigan, before ripping it off and chucking it onto the table.

"What?" Blaise replied blankly, watching her movements bemusedly. Hermione snarled and commenced pacing.

"You've been awfully… nice tonight," she muttered irritably. She was so infuriated, at herself or Blaise she couldn't work out. How could she have missed it so easily, how could he suddenly be some bloody charming? Blaise watched her pace and leaned back.

"I don't know why you're so angry, I could have been my normal self," he smirked lightly at her confusion.

"And why weren't you?" Hermione squared her shoulders and came to rest with folded arms. "Why are you suddenly being Mr Charming?" Blaise had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed.

"I realised it wasn't working before," he said in a low voice, scratching his neck. Hermione said nothing; but slumped into the chair opposite him. She rested her hands on the table and took a deep breath.

"So, you now understand that by getting under my skin that isn't going to work, but by trying to charm me that won't either."

"I beg to differ," he sneered, "it was working quite well earlier on."

There was silence.

"You're an idiot Zabini," Hermione muttered crossly.

"But a charming idiot."

"No," Hermione snapped, "just an idiot."

"You love me for it," Blaise sighed happily and grinned roguishly at her.

"I hate you for it," Hermione replied in a hollow voice.

He frowned, almost believing her.

"You say women are hard to understand but how do you think I feel now? For about six months you've lead me down an increasingly miserable path of lacking dignity and self worth, then, then you, you dare to think you can suddenly change tactics and that makes it all better? You're a conceited prat, Zabini!" Hermione fumed, and fell back in her seat crossly. Thinking about what an idiot he was made her take her eyes away from the reality of what she was going to have to face up too.

"I think you misunderstand my actions does not make me any more stupid than it makes you," he replied smoothly. Hermione leaned forward.

"Misunderstand? You've been gladly insulting my work from day to day for months. Admit it; you don't know how to approach a woman!" Hermione declared this with a snarl. Blaise didn't move.

"I know how to approach women," he said evenly.

"Then why have you failed so miserably with me, in every aspect of our knowing each other?" Hermione demanded.

"Because you're not like the others." Hermione said nothing, but allowed her mouth to fall open, "they don't make my palms sweat or challenge my intelligence, they run after my looks and my money, offer themselves to me like cheap sluts. They don't realise I don't want them."

"You're so used to getting anything you want that when something comes along you really do want you can't have it," Hermione replied flatly. She didn't quite think she comprehended what Blaise was saying to her. It did all seem rather surreal.

"Yes," he agreed, and leant forwards continuing in a low voice, "But it's not just because I can't have you that I want you."

"You want me?"

"You're a bit slow on the uptake, Granger," Blaise leaned back into his chair and Hermione was sure that for a fraction of a second his cheeks darkened.

"Erm, right," she replied awkwardly, knowing she wouldn't look as composed as him. She didn't know what to say.

"Either slap me or snog me, I know which I'd prefer," Blaise said in a bored tone of voice. Hermione tutted. He was an idiot. But, she had to admit a relatively harmless and somewhat amusing idiot.

She rose from her chair and walked over to him, bending down, for the first time in a while he looked quite interested in her advance. She leaned her face down and kissed his cheek.

"In your own, twisted way, I suppose you're quite sweet," she said gently in his ear, "you can take the sofa for the night." Hermione straightened and smiled somewhat awkwardly. He was grinning at her, grinning happily, not a smirking or mocking grin, one of happiness.

"Your great," he said in a low voice and kissed her cheek in return.

Hermione found little sleep that night.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you that staring was rude," Blaise murmured, his eyes still closed. Hermione jumped and spilled hot coffee down her nightie. It was the morning and a half naked Blaise Zabini was on her sofa and Hermione didn't have a clue of what to do.

"I brought coffee," Hermione said awkwardly, waving a wand over her damp top, "I didn't know if I should wake you." Blaise cracked an eye open and winced at the natural light. He looked at her for a second then closed his eye again.

"I like your hair. It looks like a bird's nest."

"Yet again you flatter me," Hermione said flatly, setting down the mugs onto the coffee table in her living room.

"I do that well," Blaise levered himself up to a sitting position and let his blanket fall down to his lap. Hermione swallowed. Hard.

"Coffee. Need," He muttered. Hermione obligingly passed him a mug and watched him sip pensively.

"Better," he actually opened both of his eyes. "So what are we doing today?" he asked quizzically.

"Er we?" Hermione tried desperately not to stare at his bare chest.

Blaise tilted his head. "Will you go out with me?"

"Er…"

"Okay- are you doing anything today?"

"No."

"Then you're coming out with me."

Hermione didn't argue but grinned into her coffee, he amused her. They finished their drinks in silence, with only sniffs and sighs to break the tension.

"Hermione, come here," Blaise said a few minutes later, patting the side of her sofa. Hermione obliged and stood up to perch herself on the edge of the sofa. Blaise leaned over and forcefully pulled her to him. Cupping a hand round her cheek he spoke gently.

"Please, can I kiss you yet?"

Hermione swallowed again, her eyes flickering closed, cheek burning beneath his hand.

"Yes."

And it was wonderful.


End file.
